Burn
by nevermoreanymore
Summary: As the ward of Gandalf the Grey, Ireth Celebrindal has more than her fair share of adventure... so what's this about an insane trip to destroy the One Ring? Legomance. 10th Walker.
1. Prologue

I don't own Lord of the Rings... Tolkien does... sadly.

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><p>It was irritating, looking down into a party, but being unable to join it. From her position on the hill, Ireth could just see the warm orange of party lights. With a sigh, she propped her head on the little fence and watched her feet dangle over the cliff. Far down below, little hobbits bustled in and out of colorful tents like ants on an anthill. Gandalf's fireworks were long over. From the party they must have been dazzling, but something about being forced to watch from a far off hill dimmed them.<p>

Ireth imagined the music had started up again. Was hobbit party music like human music, all glorious war songs, or maybe elvish music, mournfully reserved? From afar, hobbits looked warm and lively, but Gandalf had never let Ireth talk to an actual hobbit. With a sigh, she ran a finger over a pointed ear. "Reasons for everything," she muttered.

Flopping backwards onto the grass, Ireth reached for a handful of twigs. Lazily, she picked one from her hand and held it against the stars. The spindly brown almost vanished into the deep indigo. "_Naara_," she whispered. The little twig lit fire, glowing against the inky night sky. Smoldering away slowly, warm ashes drifted across eleth's pale face, until there was nothing left. Ireth reached for the next twig. "_Naara_." Gandalf would scold her for it later. "_Naara." _He could probably feel it now, the little waves of magical disruption she was sending. "_Naara._" Ireth winced as tiny flames singed her fingers. But then, what did Gandalf expect her to do as she waited for him while he chuckled away at his hobbit party? Fingers throbbing, Ireth stared up at the stars, the stars that probably looked much brighter at the bottom of the hill.

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><p>Naara: burn<p> 


	2. The Arrival

Still don't own Lord of the Rings... totally expecting Tolkien to mail me the rights by February... but not really.

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><p>Ratty robes billowing behind him, Gandalf strode down the halls of Rivendell as Ireth bobbed after him. "Gandalf?" He quickened his pace. Ireth grit her teeth and huffed. One moment they had been quietly studying treatises on transmutation in the Homely House's extensive library, and the next Gandalf was rushing half across Rivendell muttering about rings and rivers. Grabbing his sleeve, Ireth nearly stumbled to keep up. However, the aged wizard did not stop at her touch, and he began to half drag, half tug Ireth down the hall with him. "Gandalf, what's going on?" she begged. They turned sharply down a corridor on to wide balcony. "Gandalf?"<p>

Gandalf halted unexpectedly. Tumbling into the old man's back, Ireth frowned up at him as he turned to face her. Lightly he unclenched her slender hand from his sleeve with one of his own wizened ones. "Ireth Celebrindal, there is a time and a place for questions," Gandalf said, "but now is not then."

"But Gandalf…" Ireth pleaded. She watched his beard twitch before Gandalf turned on his heel and charged down the hallway in his long, distinctive gait. "Mysterious _and _abrupt, today. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Ireth growled. It was not as if she had expected Gandalf to be any less reticent than usual. After almost nine hundred years as his ward, it just stung a little. Shooting a glare at an eavesdropping elf, Ireth ran after the wizard.

Boots clacking against polished stone, Ireth rounded another sharp corner. Gandalf moved much too fast for an old man, and Rivendell was designed with a few too many twists and turns. As she tore up a spiraling staircase, Ireth cursed Rivendell's architect. Dodging a startled elf, Ireth slid to a graceless halt against a white pillar. Clustered outside a room, Gandalf, Elrond, and Arwen Evenstar broke off, at least what Ireth assumed to be, a conversation. Gandalf gawked at the elf. Elrond, who was much too dignified to gawk, simply gazed. With a delicate cough, Arwen Evenstar studied the marble floor. Blushing, Ireth bowed awkwardly and did not dare to look up. "Very… slippery floor," she mumbled, "Clean, though."

Ireth watched her own reflection hesitate back at her from the floor of Rivendell. It was agonizingly silent. A small twinge of pain pulled at Ireth's shoulder, as a crick started to develop in her neck. Someone, a man, cleared his throat, before a door creaked open, and footsteps started to fade away. "Wait!" Ireth cried. Jerking her head up, she saw Elrond pause in the doorway.

In careful, slow steps, Elrond moved to the center of the frame, his body obscuring all but a glimpse of Gandalf's face, which had concern flickering across its features. A low moan echoed from the room behind him. "We need healers here. Not children who toddle in the footsteps of wizards, destroying as they go, Ireth Celebrindal," Elrond said coolly. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, expression unreadable. When Ireth started towards him, Elrond slipped inside the sick room and shut the door behind him.

Ireth bent down and sat on the marble floor. She buried her face in her hands and exhaled a breath that she did not remember holding. Elrond and Rivendell, neither seemed to trust her. It all came down to two things: her pathetic disgrace as an elf and her penchant for hasty magic. As she fluttered by, the elf Ireth passed early cast a scornful glance towards her direction on the floor. Listening to the rustle of silks fade away, Ireth pressed her head to her knees. If Ireth had glided up the staircase in her own floating lilac dress and elegantly inquired of the situation, Elrond would have graciously granted her access to the sick room with Gandalf. Ireth could visualize Elrond opening that creaky wooden door for her as she whisked by him.

Except Ireth did not own a dress. When she had asked Gandalf for one, several centuries ago, the wizard had merely waved her away, insisting that they would only hamper her movement. However, the lack of that same dress now hampered her upward movement. Inevitably, the only place for an elf was set within strict boundaries. One could be wise and mystical or light and joyous. Her appearance, with her human hair cut and its chunky bangs as well as her boyish clothes, and the slim, black metal rod she used to work her magic already set Ireth as an outcast. There was no place in Rivendell for a clumsy, humanlike elf, much less one who's strange aptitude for magic spanned only the darkest and most destructive fields. Whenever Ireth caught an elf of Rivendell in the eyes, she could see wariness reflected in them.

Ireth wobbled to her feet and went to the balcony railing. Rivendell seemed to be full of them. Centuries ago, when Gandalf first brought her to Rivendell, he had talked in great depth of the Homely House's architecture, though now she could not recall much of it. Speaking of Gandalf, he could have piped up. He could have mentioned that nearly nine hundred years hardly made one a child. He could have mentioned that nearly nine hundred years as the ward of Gandalf the Grey hardly made one an apprentice either. He at least could have mentioned that Ireth's healing spells no longer burnt the recipient, or at least, not usually.

Ireth plucked a leaf from a nearby bush. Through slender fingers, she let the crinkled leaf drift delicately out of sight. Another elf tut-tutted behind her. The elves of Rivendell seemed drawn to scenes of impropriety like flies to carrion. Ireth supposed elves revered nature too much to sully it by ripping innocent leaves in halfhearted self-pity. Idly, she considered using magic to regrow the leaf, but then Gandalf would be sore over frivolous magic. With her luck, the bush would probably catch fire, too, and Elrond would have a field day.

Ireth began to meander towards the spiral staircase. Sitting outside the door like a wet puppy would only make it seem like she really did just "toddle in the footsteps of wizards." She started down the stairs but was stopped by a small cannonball of elvish child to the stomach. Tumbling backwards, Ireth fell against the balcony railing. Marble proved to be painful. As Ireth gasped for breath, the child pushed himself up hurriedly. Another child exploded from the staircase, and yet another, bowling over the first, blushing child, and, just Ireth was beginning to stand, they toppled on top of each other, knocked her over again. Jabbing a pointy elbow into the side of one curly headed boy, Ireth tried to extract herself from the tangle of bodies. She received a knee to the stomach in return.

"Foolish hobbits!" a man roared in the hazy distance. So these were hobbits, Ireth registered dimly. They were rather heavy, and pointy, and made it rather difficult to breathe when three were crushing your stomach. Perhaps they had redeeming qualities? One hobbit wiggled out from the pile as another was lifted bodily out of the mess by the man. The third hobbit blushed an even deeper, rosy red and scrambled to his feet. "Ireth?"

Ireth gaped in a way that would have made elves tut-tut. "Aragorn?" she spluttered.

The ranger smiled and extended one callous hand to the eleth. "I take it this means Gandalf is not far behind, hmm? I'd love to chat, but I'm in something of a hurry to see him. He should be tending a sick friend of ours," Aragorn said.

A hobbit, the blushing one, tugged at Aragorn's sleeve, while the other two scouted around, as if their friend was stashed behind a pillar nearby. Ireth let Aragorn pull her up and returned his smile with a frown. As his smile slid off his face, Ireth waved to the closed door. "Off limits," she said shortly, "to all _toddling children_. It's Elrond, Gandalf, and Lady Arwen only."

The two scouting hobbits seemed crestfallen, and the blushing one looked close to tears. Aragorn's frown deepened. "You know Elrond's only trying to do what's best," he said softly.

The blushing hobbit started towards the door. "Well, Master Frodo needs me there," he began, before Aragorn caught him by the shoulder.

"Sam," Aragorn scolded quietly, "Leave the elves to their work."

Sam flopped onto the floor and sat there. "Well, I'll just wait here then, beggin' your pardon for sittin' on your floor, milady," he said, and then, scowling at the door, he crossed his arms. Aragorn sighed and leaned against the railing. The other two hobbits joined Sam on the floor. Ireth raised a questioning eyebrow to Aragorn, but he just shook his head wearily. Ever since he was a boy, Aragorn had all the haggardness of an old man. Now he was as scraggily, unkempt, and unshaven as always, but the shadows under his eyes had grown. Blood oozed from a slight gash on his cheek.

"You've seen better days. Want me to fix that up for you?" Ireth asked, gesturing to the cut.

Aragorn smiled wryly. "Did that nasty burn of Gandalf's ever heal up after-"

"Fine. Arwen probably wants an excuse to see you anyways. I hope you bleed out into a husk, so that when she finally sees you, she'll be disgusted, silly ranger," Ireth teased. Then she cast a quick glance around the balcony, "But seriously, don't spread that around, the elves here mock me as it is."

Aragorn and Ireth watched the waiting hobbits silently. Aragorn had changed, she decided. When Ireth had last seen him, it had been several years ago. While she had been preoccupied with the obvious wounds and shadows, Ireth also noticed other little details, like how Aragorn was wearing the same clothes she last saw him in, or how they seemed, if possible, looser. Unfortunately, living with Gandalf had its disadvantages, one of them being interacting with normal people. _How to breach this delicately? _Ireth opened her mouth to ask him of it, but the wooden door to the healers' room burst open with a creaky bang.

Immediately, all three hobbits bounded up to the door. Arwen swept out first, graceful and ladylike, eyes widening for the briefest moment at the sight of Aragorn, and vanished down a corridor. Nodding to Aragorn, Elrond followed Arwen down the hall. With a slight totter, Gandalf leaned against the door. He exhaled heavily and motioned for the bouncing hobbits to enter. Gandalf closed the door behind the hobbits as Ireth and Aragorn approached him. "Frodo will live," Gandalf sighed. Aragorn's shoulders loosened visibly. Before Aragorn could say anything, however, Gandalf raised a hand to stop him. "It may be a few days until he regains consciousness, though. The combined efforts of three spell casters still relies slightly on the hobbit's own endurance," he added. Aragorn nodded. "Rest, Aragorn."

With another nod, Aragorn waved to Ireth and strode away. Ireth looked to Gandalf. The elderly man was leaning heavily on his gnarled staff, breathing heavily. The sunlight cast his wrinkles and the heavy bags under his eyes in deep relief. "You're getting too old for this, master," Ireth murmured to Gandalf. In his eyes, Ireth could see that he knew it, too.

Gandalf merely gave her a worn smile. "And you," he replied, "are an upstart of a pupil." With trembling steps, Gandalf shuffled to his room in Rivendell. Behind him, Ireth trailed, studying the sag of his shoulders and the limpness of his robes. Age. Elves lived an eternity, and the men around them dropped like flies. While ever since she could remember, there had been Gandalf, Ireth had been to many funerals. She had always been at Gandalf's side, for almost nine hundred years, since she was a child. As long as she could remember, Gandalf looked as he did now, an old man. But what if, someday, there was no more Gandalf?

Ireth could feel her hands tighten into fists. "Just be careful," she mumbled.

Gandalf turned to her, surprise crossing his face before being masked by another tired smile. "I'm not about to retire just yet," he said. "There is more work for me out there still." Gandalf stopped at the door to his room. Looking out to the horizon, he appeared lost in thought. "A few days from now, Elrond requests my presence at a council. You may come with me, if you choose, Ireth," he added suddenly.

Ireth's eyes darted to Gandalf's face, but it was unreadable. "And would Elrond like that?" she asked carefully.

"You are hardly the child you once were, and Elrond will respect my judgment." Gandalf answered. Eyes fixed on Rivendell, he whispered, "Things are changing, quicker than I anticipated." But before Ireth could respond, Gandalf slipped into his room, leaving Ireth frowning outside.

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><p>Reviews? Ehh? Eh? Please?<p> 


	3. The Council

If I owned Lord of the Rings, this wouldn't be a fanfic. But alas, Tolkien owns Lord of the Rings, so this _is _fanfiction.

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><p>Ireth squirmed uncomfortably in the stone chair. People were glaring at her, which Ireth understood, because, if she was one of them, she would be glaring at her, too. First, she and Gandalf had run a little late, quite late actually, because she had insisted on procuring a dress for the Council. Then, when they burst into the middle of an impatient Council, Ireth discovered that Elrond had set out the exact number of chairs, meaning they were now one short. Ireth would have stood to the side but for Aragorn, who insisted that she have his chair. This then sent several council members into a tizzy, because it would be preposterous for Isildur's heir not to have a chair. So Aragorn kept his seat, as a elvish servant rushed to find another chair for Ireth, which due to one dwarf's insistence that asymmetrically arranged furniture made him ill, had to be identical to the all others.<p>

Now Aragorn was shooting her apologetic looks, while the rest of the Council was shooting Ireth venomous glares. Gandalf's beard was twitching treacherously, leading Ireth to suspect he was laughing. She did not dare look to him, but Ireth had a sinking feeling that Elrond was resisting the urge to shake his head at her. Her cheeks burned as the hobbit, Frodo, placed a gold band on the pedestal.

The Ring of Power. Ireth's reverie snapped. Dimly, she was aware of people murmuring around her. The Ring oozed warmth and power. In her chair, Ireth leaned forward slowly, drawn in by the glimmering gold whispering to her in a soft, familiar tongue. With this, no one could call her a child. Elrond would respect her. With the power of this Ring, she could reach out and pluck the very stars from the sky. Ireth's fingers inched of their own accord down the arm of the chair. Before they could get far, Gandalf's cold hand clamped on her own with an iron grip. Blinking out of her daze, Ireth fell back into her chair. The wizard tightened his grip and leaned to her. "Brace yourself," he murmured.

The man, Boromir of Gondor, rose, his hawk like features darkened in a deep flush. "It is a gift...a gift to the foes of Mordor!" he exclaimed. Licking his chapped lips, Boromir paced slowly round the Council. "Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, held the forces of Mordor at bay..." Ireth felt Gandalf's hand tense. "By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy...let us use it against him!" Boromir finished triumphantly.

The Council was still. From the corner of her eye, Ireth tried to gage Gandalf's reaction. He looked unfazed, but the hand that lay over hers was shaking. Little icy pinpricks crept down Ireth's back and tingled through to her toes. Gandalf never worried. Scowling, Ireth peered at blustering human through fringed bangs, but his expression was cloaked by his wild coppery hair. However, his fingers played just barely with the sword belt at his side. Arrogant man. She should-

"Ireth," Gandalf hissed, "You're on fire."

His whisper echoed around the motionless circle. With a gasp, Ireth looked down. Her fingernails had dug into the stone, and at each fingertip, little tendrils of flame licked at the chair arms. Ireth grimaced, extinguishing the miniature fire. Little ripples murmured around the Council, and several members, especially among the elves, stared at her. Ireth bowed her head to them. "Pardon me," she said. The spell was broken.

Smiling lightly at her, Aragorn rose to his feet and looked to Boromir. "You cannot wield it. None of us can. The one ring answers to Sauron alone...it has no other master," Aragorn reprimanded.

Boromir snorted. "And what would a ranger know of this matter?" he asked as he fiddled with his sword belt.

Before Aragorn could speak, an elf, younger than the rest, bounded up. "This is no mere Ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance," he said. The elf held Boromir's eyes evenly. Ireth cast a quick sideways glance at Gandalf, who had released her hand much earlier. He was unreadable. Warily, Ireth returned her gaze to the elf. While he lacked a human's bulk, the elf was lean and matched eye levels with the much more muscled Boromir. His pale blonde hair fell in the traditional elvish cut, highlighting his pointed ears. An earth toned cloak betrayed him as from Mirkwood. And the elf did not fidget.

Aragorn stepped between the man and elf. "_Havo dad, Legolas..._" he said, laying a hand on the elf's shoulder. Ireth's eyes drifted after Legolas as he returned to his seat. As conversation resumed, he leaned back in his chair, and, awkwardly, their eyes met. Even from across the circle, Ireth could see that they were a bright crystalline blue. It was hypnotic. Ireth could not seem to free her eyes from his spell, and Legolas just tilted his head and frowned at her. If it was some enchantment, Gandalf would free her from it, right?

Dazedly, Legolas rose to his feet. Blinking, Ireth shook her head to clear the strange haze filling it. Her chest felt unusually constricted, and she just knew it was his fault. As the Council faced Legolas expectantly, his pale cheeks darkened. "I- The ring! The ring must be destroyed!" he exclaimed. Tumbling back into his chair, Legolas glowered at Ireth before averting his eyes quickly. As she frowned at the floor, Ireth felt as if her own flaming fingers had burnt her face.

She sat quietly while the Council collapsed into race warfare and bickering. The elf she was pointedly _not _watching was buried somewhere in the fray. On his feet several minutes ago, Gandalf, too, was absorbed in the chaos. Catching Elrond being quite undignified, Ireth smiled into her hand. While Gandalf would be sore, Ireth waited on the sidelines of the developing skirmish and studied the Ring again. There was something about it… what it could offer…

"I will take the Ring to Mordor." The hobbit, Frodo, rose to his feet. The top of his curly head did not even reach Gandalf's shoulder, and Ireth could already see Frodo meeting his end as Nazgul breakfast. As Gandalf closed his eyes slowly, Ireth knew he was imagining the same. "Though...I do not know the way," Frodo mumbled.

Gandalf smiled, rooting Ireth to her chair. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear," Gandalf said. With numb fingers, Ireth carefully pinched her arm, because this was a dream. Gandalf was still perfectly sane, strange elves were not enchanting her, and she was not sitting in this Council right now. As she felt a burning throb, Ireth mashed her eyes shut. She reopened them. Gandalf and Frodo stood in front of the circle, and Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli, and that dreaded elf had joined them. The world was broken.

Ireth's feet, somewhere distant below her legs, dragged her to the men. She laid a hand on Gandalf's shoulder. "_Mankoi ier lle sina?"_ she whispered.

Ireth stared up at him, but his face betrayed nothing. "You do not have to accompany me, _wanwa hin_," Gandalf replied. The wizard's eyes were planted on something above Ireth's head. After nine hundred years as her mentor, as substitute father, Gandalf was telling her to leave. It was hard to breathe again. She was cold and far, far away. Gandalf could not leave her.

"Without you, I would be lost," Ireth said as she sidled into the group of men. Behind her, Gandalf's mustache twitched noiselessly.

A reddish hobbit, Sam, as Ireth recalled, burst from the bushes in a flurry of leaves. As Elrond tut-tutted disapprovingly down at him, Ireth felt a pang of pity. "Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me," Sam wailed.

He shoved his way to an aghast, but apparently friendly, Frodo, and stood at his side with stalwart dignity. Before Elrond could continue, the second and third hobbits scrambled from their own bushes. "Oi! We're coming too! You'll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us," one cried, as the other nodded approvingly.

"Anyway...you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission...quest...thing..." the other added.

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><p>Translations<p>

_Havo dad, Legolas...: _sit down, Legolas

_Mankoi ier lle sina: _why are you doing this?

_wanwa hin_: lost child

Note: Many lines not spoken to/by Ireth are taken directly from the movie and are not my own creation. Don't sue me.

Soooo... did I mention reviews make me happy?


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